


One Hell of a Prince

by OtherCat



Series: OtherCat's Snippets and Incomplete Fic [7]
Category: Black Jewels - Bishop, Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler)
Genre: Adventure, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-22
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherCat/pseuds/OtherCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bastian SaDiablo, known to his master Ciel Phantomhive as Sebastian Michaelis, is determined to serve Ciel, even after their contract is fulfilled. Anime centric fusion with the Black Jewels trilogy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Master, Sleeping In

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Crossover of the fusion kind--assumed future-fic for The Black Jewels Trilogy, with Kuroshitsuji, where Sebastian is the youngest child of Daemon and Jaenelle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Saetan has some questions, and Sebastian has got some 'splaining to do.

Ciel was asleep, looking vulnerable and bruised--he had survived the passage to the Dark Realm, just as Bastian had suspected he'd be able to. Still, he was badly wounded, and Bastian just thanked the Darkness that he'd been able to keep the boy's heart beating this long. Ciel had helped, of course, he had no training or even an inkling of what he really was, but his will and determination even when faced with what he'd thought was certain death kept him going. Bastian was certain that even if the boy died, he'd make the transition to demon-dead--that was why he had chosen the little island of the _cildru dyathe_ as a possible final resting place for his Master.

"Such a small Master," Bastian said, an affectionate warmth settling in his chest as he recalled the first words he'd said to the boy on that terrible day--their first meeting. Ciel had been so angry, so frightened, so powerful without even knowing that the force of his words had caught Bastian in unbreakable bonds. So strange to find the one he had been looking for in such a strange, alien world. He carefully laid Ciel down onto the bench, and stood back, removing his coat and covering the boy

The raven flapped down from her perch to the bench. She tilted her head this way and that, fixing a beady eye on first Ciel and then Bastian. *I thought there were only landen in that world--this fledgling is a Warlord Prince!* She sent along a distaff to spear thread.

"There's a story behind that," Bastian said. "And it's one of the reasons why I wouldn't let big brother and big sister come rescue me."

"Or Grandpa or Dad or Mom," a dryly amused voice said.

Bastian turned quickly, and nearly overbalanced himself--very much not his usual graceful self at that moment. He recovered something resembling dignity and straightened. "Highlord, thank you for meeting me here at the Children's Isle." He bowed formally, before looking up again with a faint grin. "Grandpa."

Saetan SaDiablo returned the smile with one of his own. The smile turned into a look of concern as he took in his grandson's missing arm. He didn't say anything, and Bastian didn't offer anything in return. Instead he asked about Ciel, with the understanding that there would be explanations, later. "And this child is part of the reason why you remained in that mirror-world?" He looked around at the illusionary forest and ruins pointedly. "And why you wanted this island decorated?"

Bastian nodded, feeling his face go a little warm. "I blame Edgar Allen Poe and the House of Usher," he muttered. "Ciel's reading habits are a little morbid."

"That still doesn't really explain why you wanted to cater to it," Saetan murmured as he approached the sleeping boy. "How badly is he hurt?" the Highlord asked as he began to examine the boy.

"He was shot, thrown around, drowned, and then his heart stopped. I managed to get the bleeding stopped and his heart started but I'm afraid of infection--the river he was dropped in was utterly filthy. I put him into a very deep, hopefully healing sleep."

"I see," Saetan said, and made a careful inspection of his grandson's handiwork. He stopped when he made a discovery concerning Ciel. "His eye--"

"I had a similar mark on my hand, Grandfather," Bastian said. "It appeared when I vowed to 'protect and serve' him."

The look Saetan turned on his grandson would have turned the guts of lesser men to water. The same look just made Bastian squirm like a boy anticipating the scolding--or switching--of a lifetime. "I believe you're going to have a great deal of explaining to do, young man," The High Lord of Hell said. He carefully floated Ciel up from the bench he'd been lying on. "Let's get this young Warlord Prince to Askavi."

A few hours later, once Ciel was settled in one of the guest rooms, Bastian got himself cleaned up, and went to his grandfather's office. Grandfather was currently pretending to read a magazine. "I'm not sure where I should start," Bastian said. His mind was entirely blank, hovering between Ciel, his battle with the mad angel and his own exhaustion and pain.

"The beginning would be good," Saetan said calmly, and set aside the magazine. "Prince."

So he explained. How an experiment he'd been working on with his fellow Brat Contingent members had gone so horribly wrong that he'd gotten lost in the Darkness. How he'd been pulled out of the Darkness and into a mirror world by the will and determination of a child who was being tortured and slaughtered in some alien, inverted execution ceremony. He talked about Ciel, and about the things he'd discovered about the boy's family, and how they had become the secret controllers of a Territory's criminal underworld. Two years of stories, funny, exasperating, deathly serious and terribly painful. He talked about helping Ciel gain his vengeance, and the contract between them. He talked until he was hoarse, answering question after question. "The reason why I didn't want anyone coming to get me is because that world--does strange things to Blood who end up there. The mark, for one--and what I had to eat when I was there for another, " Bastian said at the end.

"Explain what you mean by 'what I had to eat,'" Saetan said softly.

"Souls--the very essence of a person's thoughts and feelings, and the spirit that moves them," Bastian said in response. He hesitated. How to describe what had happened? What he had somehow become in that place? "It wasn't unpleasant, not for me, and not for the person I--fed from."

"The child."

"And the household steward, a man named Tanaka," Bastian said. "A very brave man I came to admire greatly. He knew what I was--or thought he did, and offered to help me, because I had saved Ciel." Bastian paused, feeling his throat close up and hearing his voice become strained. "He did this, even though it caused him to slowly lose himself to a kind of senility he could only occasionally return from." His eyes were fixed on his remaining hand, with its black-painted nails. "Tanaka taught me a great deal, and I wouldn't have been able to do a great many things without his assistance. I don't know what's become of him, or of the servants I found and hired."

"And you don't care," Saetan said gently.

"I feel as if I should, but not strongly," Bastian admitted. "They were there to protect Ciel, and they performed that task well--but I'm afraid Mother would be disappointed in me because I wasn't able to protect everyone." Bastian yawned. It had been a very long, very unpleasant night. But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Ciel's face, brave but so very worn and fragile beneath the surface. "He's going to be extremely angry with me when he wakes up," Bastian said. "I deprived him of a very poetic end."

"I'm sure you'll weather the storm," Saetan said, looking amused.

"He's a Warlord Prince even if he doesn't have Jewels yet," Bastian said with a groan. "He's worse than Daemonar."

"I find that hard to believe," Saetan grumped.

"Just wait, Grandfather, you'll see."

"You have a lot more than your Warlord Prince to worry about, very shortly, Bastian," Saetan said with a suddenly evil smile. "I wasn't supposed to warn you but the Contingent and your parents are due to descend upon you very shortly. I believe your father especially would like to have a word with you about your absence."

"Mother Night."

* * *

In the past two years, Ciel had grown accustomed to being awakened by his butler, given the day's itinerary, and the breakfast menu. Sebastian would help him dress, and he'd go down to breakfast. There would occasionally be some kind of altercation among the servants, or the oven would explode and Sebastian would save the day with a sort of gleeful enjoyment at the opportunity to improvise chaos and destruction into order. This was the daily routine. Even if Ciel slept in whenever he got the chance, there was always a moment where he would awaken for a few minutes, waiting for the anticipated entrance of Sebastian. Even if the butler didn't actually go through the motions of the usual routine, he would still at least enter the room.

So Ciel awoke at what his body insisted was the appointed time, even though the room he was in was dark. He waited, dreamy and not quite aware, thinking hazy golden thoughts involving breakfast--but Sebastian failed to appear. This made him wake up a little more, and realize that his body hurt, and that the soft bed he slept on wasn't his, and the room he had awakened in wasn't his either.

Ciel went very still, confused and suddenly apprehensive. He glanced around the room, frowning. Near his bed sat a frame from which something very like a spider's web had been strung. It glowed and seemed to ripple as if struck by some kind of breeze, though there wasn't a draft. He reached his hand toward it, but was stopped by and odd sort of pressure that pushed back against his hand. He pulled back, sitting up much too quickly, and his stiff body protested this treatment with a burst of pain. Ciel hissed and fell back confused and disoriented.

The last thing he remembered was Sebastian smiling at him. Now then, Master...Ciel shivered. He didn't remember what had happened, only that it had hurt and then he'd been floating, drifting.

There was a polite knock on the door, breaking Ciel from his reverie. The door opened, and a man who was as dark skinned as Prince Soma entered the room. The man had brilliantly golden eyes, and had the manner and bearing of someone with a great deal of authority. Despite the fact the man was a stranger, there was something about the man that put him at ease, something that reminded him very strongly of Sebastian. The stranger spoke, but the words were in a language that was neither English--or Hindi. At the same time, he heard in English, "Good evening, Lord Phantomhive, how are you feeling?"

"I-I'm well," Ciel said, and hated the slight tremor in his voice. Was this man a demon, like Sebastian? Where was Sebastian? "I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, sir. To whom am I speaking?"

The man smiled and made a slight bow, hand over heart. Ciel noticed that like Sebastian, this man painted his fingernails black. "I am Lord SaDiablo, an assistant librarian at Ebon Askavi--which is where you are right now."

SaDiablo. It was almost Spanish, but not quite. "This is a library?"

"Of a sort. You might also call it an archive or even a museum." The man sat down next to the bed, near the shimmering web. "All information related to the Blood is kept here." A smile. "I realize that wouldn't mean anything to you. My grandson has given me a list of things to inform you of, and an even longer list of things you might require."

"Sebastian is your grandson?" Ciel asked. Sebastian had never mentioned a family, and Ciel had assumed that meant that the demons didn't have them, or at least, Sebastian didn't.

The man nodded. "Yes. He's away on what he claims is an important errand, but I suspect he's probably hiding."

"Hiding?" Ciel couldn't imagine his butler hiding from anyone.

"Bastian had until now mostly been out of contact with his family," Lord SaDiablo said. "Sending messages back and forth isn't enough when you are a concerned parent or other family member."

"I suppose," Ciel said. For some reason Lizzy came to mind, and his aunts, both poor Madame Red, and the fierce Amazonian Marchioness Frances Middleford. It was starting to sink in a little, that he most likely would never see Lizzy again. That he was in a strange, unfamiliar place--and that he was alive, and he was alone, except perhaps for Sebastian, who wasn't here, and had a family of his own.

The man--or demon--smiled slightly. "You've been through a great deal, I'll try to keep them at bay until you're ready to receive visitors."

Ciel blinked. "Why would they need to be kept at bay?"

"You're the main reason Bastian wouldn't return, and we're all very curious about you." The man rose to his feet. "I'll bring you breakfast." With that, 'Lord SaDiablo' left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.


	2. His Master, A Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is more exposition, and an offer.

Bastian's errand involved finding books that would help Ciel learn the more commonly used languages used throughout the Realms. Three very simple children's books that were sure to prick his master's pride, and some intermediate level books that were more challenging. There were also books on protocol and some novels that fell within the range of literature Ciel generally preferred.

Next on the agenda was talking to his family.

He found them in one of the reading rooms near the guest wing, having something of a party. Of the Contingent, his sister Ilene, Daemonar and Mika were there. Of the Parentals, Aunt Marian, Mother and Father were present. Mika and Daemonar were having one of their usual arguments, and everyone was playing audience with varying levels of amusement. Food had been laid out, as well as drinks. Bastian smiled, straightened his clothes (which were just the least bit poorly fitted since they were second hand) and stepped into the room during a lull in the conversation. "I hate to tell you, but Mika's right and you're wrong, cousin," Bastian interjected. "Dazan's plays were in fact written by Dazan."

There was a moment of surprise, and the conversation stuttered to a stop, then started up again, with Bastian as the focus. "Bastian, we missed you," his sister said, stepping over and hugging him fiercely. Then she punched him--not very hard, just hard enough to make him wince. "You made us worried."

"I'm sorry for that," Bastian said, rubbing his arm.

"I didn't miss you," Daemonar offered with a smirk.

"Good. I'd hate to think you'd gotten to like getting your tail kicked."

"You never have, Brat." Daemonar circled in.

"I think you forgot, Ass." Bastian mirrored his cousin's movements. They weren't really rivals, there was too much difference between their ages and interests. When Bastian had been a child he'd always pestered Daemonar the most of all of his cousins and siblings. Daemonar had typically pestered Bastian right back. It had been the sort of relationship where "I love him" and "I hate him," might be said within a very short space of time. They weren't rivals, but they couldn't help but test each other. This test now, after he'd been away for so long...it was really the best greeting imaginable. "I should remind you." He grinned at his cousin. *Even with one arm,* he sent along a spear thread, privately to Daemonar.

Daemonar's wings flexed. "I think I should remind you," he said. His smile was just as wide, and just as sharp.

"I think you should both save this happy reunion for later," Daemon said in a very calm voice.

"Much later," Jaenelle said in a tone that was both kind, and stern.

The affect on both himself and Daemonar was a lot like being doused in cold water. They straightened up immediately and bowed with a chorus of "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Daemon said with a slight smirk. "I'm sure Jaenelle and Marian could tell you stories about some of Lucivar and my 'reunions.'"

"I'm sure they've all ready heard them," Daemonar's mother said with a slight smile. "And not in the most flattering light either." There was stifled and not-so-stifled laughter from the ladies present.

"What I'd like to hear about," Jaenelle said, "is this Ciel Phantomhive."

Her tone was very dark, and very gentle. Bastian shivered a little, hearing that tone. Out of respect for Ciel's privacy, he hadn't mentioned very much of what had happened to the boy to his Grandfather. At the same time, he knew that his mother--and his father--would have had very little difficulty in reading between the lines. "I'm sure you all ready know about how I met Ciel and how I chose to stay in the mirror world," Bastian said carefully. "I gave grandfather the bare facts because I only have theories and speculations along with a handful of stories told to me by a servant of the family. I was unable to fully research or confirm these stories because of what I felt were my duties--"

"Brat, don't bother with the disclaimer--just tell us the 'theory'," Daemonar said.

Bastian gave his cousin a dirty look, then laughed, rubbing his face with his hand. "All right. Ciel has Blood ancestry. I suspect I'm not the only one who got lost in the Darkness, and was summoned by someone's desperation. He has a very strong presence about him, and once I became accustomed to this 'contract' of ours, also realized he was a Warlord Prince."

"How could he be a Warlord Prince? At best he'd be a quarter-Blood," Daemonar said.

Bastian smirked. "Ciel's family tree doesn't fork very often, and while they don't have Blood as we do, there are many people in that world with interesting abilities that Ciel's family did their best to incorporate into their bloodline. But we're wandering a bit into other areas. Let's just say that Ciel is a Warlord Prince who has never made an offering to the Darkness." He was one, but he never made one.

"Ciel's family is very much an anomaly, from their surname to their duty of controlling what the people of that world refer to as 'the darker element of society,'" Bastian continued. "By 'darker' element, they actually mean criminals by the way. Each Earl of Phantomhive started his career at a very young age, and usually died at an equally young age. Ciel is by far the youngest."

"A child?" Aunt Marian asked. "And for him to have such a responsibility--"

"Ciel is exceptional," Bastian said with a slight smile. "Very exceptional, but you're right Aunt Marian. Children of that age generally don't possess the sort of real authority he did, in any society, not even in that society, normally. Ciel's position was unique." A pause. "I believe however that the position he was given was intended to be the death of him. He was a very young child who had been through a great deal of suffering. If I had not been there for him, he might have died very quickly."

"Why didn't you bring him here, though?" Mika asked. "Wouldn't that have been safer?"

"It wasn't our agreement," Bastian said softly. "I promised to be his power--he wanted to find the ones who had hurt him, who had destroyed his family and his life. I couldn't take him from that, and didn't want to when I saw what he was truly capable of."

"How close to the Border were you--both of you?" Daemon asked just as softly. The air got just a little bit colder.

Bastian swallowed. "Too close. We've been on the very outskirts of the Twisted Kingdom for the past two years," he said. "But we won, more or less. I just hope I can pay the price." He smiled weakly. "Ciel--wanted to die, he truly longed to return to the Darkness, even if he didn't really know that was what he wanted."

It was very quiet in the room for a moment. Daemon and Jaenelle traded a mysterious, secretive look. "You lied to him," Jaenelle said. There was no accusation in her voice, just a simple statement of fact.

Bastian nodded. "I did consume some of his power, and I made it hurt as he asked me to, but I had no intention of killing him. I wanted to heal him as much as possible, and protect him so that we could make a transition to Hell."

* * *

The food Lord SaDiablo came back with was meat broth and bread, and a mug of some kind of herbal infusion. "The infusion is for your lungs. Bastian was worried about infections, and mentioned you had asthma."

"What else has he mentioned about me?" Ciel asked. He wanted to know where Sebastian was. He wanted to know where 'here' was--and why he was still alive. He poked a spoon at the bread and broth, but didn't eat.

"Only what he's had to, to secure the things you might need," Lord SaDiablo said. "And the things that he must answer for."

That comment put things in a different light. Was Sebastian in trouble? Did Ciel care that Sebastian might be in trouble? Ciel thought about it, while playing with his food. He felt tired--he didn't want to care anymore, he was done damn it all--and damn Sebastian while he was at it too.

"If you don't want to eat, at least drink the infusion," Lord SaDiablo said in a tone of worn patience that sounded a great deal like Sebastian's. A sort of resigned, amused patience.

"Have I been drugged?" It was an idle question, more to test reactions than anything else.

Lord SaDiablo didn't look insulted or affronted. "Just sedated, and filled up with painkillers."

He sounded like Sebastian, or 'Bastian' Ciel supposed. He took a sip of the infusion, which didn't taste bad, surprisingly. "Where is this 'Askavi' place?" _I will drink the infusion if you answer my questions._

Lord SaDiablo smiled slightly. "A world much like your own--and also not at all like your own."

"Another world? Like Mars?" Or Hell, or whereever the death gods' archives were.

"Something like that," Lord SaDiablo said. He turned slightly as they both heard footsteps in the hall outside. "Bastian will answer more of your questions," he said, and opened the door.

Sebastian stood in the doorway, wearing a suit of unfamiliar cut that also looked like it was a size too big. He was also younger looking. The 'Sebastian' Ciel had known had looked like a man about his father's age. The 'Bastian' giving him a look that ranged between his usual calm faintly amused one, and an expression that was a great deal more uncertain was about Prince Soma's age. "My Lord," Sebastian said.

"I'm not your 'lord' anymore. I was supposed to be your _meal_," Ciel said.

Lord SaDiablo made a very odd sound, one very much like a laugh trying to sound like a cough. "I'll leave you two alone," the man said and manhandled Sebastian out of the doorway and into the room. "Try not to upset the child, Bastian," the man said, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Sebastian gave the door an acidic glare, then sighed, rubbing his face. "I only needed enough to keep you stable enough so I could bring you here. I'm sorry, my lord--I wanted you to live, if you were strong enough to try."

Ciel wasn't going to throw the tray on his lap at his butler. It was undignified to throw things at the help. He repeated this to himself several times. "You lied to me," Ciel said angrily. "I was so tired, I was finished, and you lied to me."

"That's why I brought you here, my lord," Sebastian said, seeming to collect himself. "There was a chance you might have died during the process of bringing you here. If you didn't survive in any sense of the word, you would have--faded. Faded like a dream, and there would have been nothing left."

Ciel shivered, for a moment seeing the image. Of himself sitting on that bench, seemingly asleep, and slowly fading away. "Damn you!"

Sebastian bowed his head. "If you really want to die, Ciel. I'll do it now." Very softly, a voice like snow falling. Cold and soft.

The cold sank in, and Ciel shivered again. "You said you wanted me to live." He didn't even know why he was arguing. Just for the sake of it, perhaps.

"Not if you are truly too tired to go on." Sebastian met Ciel's gaze, his expression cold and remote as the moon. "Give me your hand," Sebastian said, and offered his.

Hesitating for a moment, Ciel complied. Sebastian shifted his grip so that his hand was above Ciel's and the back of Ciel's hand was toward the bed. His grip tightened slightly, but not enough to make Ciel jerk back. "What--" He started to ask a question, then fell silent, his eyes widening as a strange claw curved out from Sebastian's index finger. The clawtip gently pressed into the skin of Ciel's wrist, creating a dimple, but not breaking skin.

"That's my snaketooth," Sebastian said calmly. "As the name implies, it's venomous. You'll die very quickly and painfully. All you have to do is pull away."

Ciel felt frozen. He couldn't move at all, and his heart lurched painfully in his chest. "And you won't get in trouble?" He asked.

"Murder is not illegal among the Blood," Sebastian said. Still calm, still cold. So very terribly cold. "Though there is a price."

Ciel couldn't breathe. He couldn't move, because he wanted to move--and he didn't. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled hiss. Just noise. Then, "no." A strangled whisper. He was utterly frozen by the look on Sebastian's face.

"Order me, Master," Sebastian whispered. So very gently. "If you want me to do something, you must order me."

"I order you, don't kill me," He almost couldn't force the words out, his lips felt frozen. "I order you." The second time his voice was a little more firm. "Don't kill me." Sebastian released him, and they both collapsed. Ciel fell back onto the bed, gasping as if he'd been running, and Sebastian slid out of his chair, and pressed his face against the bed. Ciel noticed with a sort of dazed amazement that Sebastian's shoulders were shaking. He couldn't tell if the demon was laughing or crying, and he didn't want to ask. "Sebastian," he said, falling back on the familiar. "The broth has gone cold. I refuse to eat cold broth and mushy bread. Go bring me something edible."

Sebastian made a sound like a groaning laugh. When he lifted his face from the bed, it was composed, and he wore a very faint smile. "Of course, young master," he said, rising to his feet. "Please do finish that infusion, it's good either cold or hot. I will see what the kitchen has to offer." With graceful and efficient movements, Sebastian set the cup by the bedside, and lifted the tray away. The door opened, apparently by itself, and Sebastian left the room, the door drifting lazily shut behind him.


	3. His Master, Curious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are learning experiences and Ciel feels a little noblesse oblige toward Sebastian.

They stayed at Ebon Askavi for two weeks.

The first few days, Ciel spent a great deal of that time sleeping, and very occasionally being introduced to various members of Sebastian's family, and his friends. He wasn't quite sure of what to make of them, or even what to say to them when they made their visits. They were very casual in some respects, and very formal in others, though in a way that was considerably different than what he was used to. (He supposed that it made sense that demons--these "Blood"--would have manners different from humans.)

As a group, they all seemed to have the same sort of "feel" he'd learned to associate with Sebastian. He had always thought the "feeling" was because of the contract--but it occurred to him that the feeling had never really gone away once the contract ended. Another interesting thing was that the "feeling" had variations. Sebastian for instance, felt virtually the same as his father and grandfather, except slightly weaker. Sebastian's mother on the other hand, seemed to slide between very weak, to very strong--and there was something extremely interesting about her, though he couldn't say what it was. He very tentatively asked Sebastian about it, leaving out the strange "interest" he felt whenever Lady Jaenelle visited.

Sebastian had given him a slightly startled look, and then he'd smiled. "You're detecting our 'psychic scents,' my lord. How 'dark' our power is, and what our castes are." The smile became a very slight smirk. "How do 'I' feel, young master?"

Ciel almost said "annoying," but decided not to. "You 'feel' like you always do," Ciel said. Annoying. And someone he--on occasion--needed to have by his bedside, or he wouldn't be able to sleep. Both those feelings, especially the latter was intrinsic to _Sebastian_ however. "I can't describe it," Ciel said, because now he was trying to. "'You' feel dangerous and very strong--focused."

"Who else 'feels' the same way, young master?" Sebastian asked.

"Your father, Lord SaDiablo and your cousin" Ciel said. "And I really resent that you'd thought I'd be _frightened_ by their names, Sebastian or being in 'Hell.' That mummery was really beneath you." Sebastian had introduced them using their last names and ranks, a ploy that had quickly collapsed under the sheer force of the Lady Jaenelle's disapproval. (Ciel wasn't quite sure he understood the precise reason for the disapproval, it seemed to involve some breach of ettiquette.)

"Actually, right now we're in Kaeleer," Sebastian said with a smile. "And let's not bring that up again, it's beneath you to harp about it after the fact. What you're 'feeling' is that we're Warlord Princes. Now, who feels 'darker' to you, myself, or my father?"

"Your father," Ciel said. "Why is it 'darker'?"

Sebastian smirked. "I should say 'because we're demons,' but then Ilene and mother would make my life miserable. Our associations will probably seem very reversed to you, but you could think of it as if our individual power is like a well. Some Blood have wells that only go down a few yards, others have wells that go down several dozen. The deeper a well, the darker it is." He cupped his hand, and something appeared--something that glittered richly. Silver jewelry--a necklace, two rings, a heavy looking bracelet, and an earring. They were set with strange, faintly shimmering gemstones, some a dark gray like hematite, and some a deep garnet. "These are my Jewels. I wasn't able to bring them out when I was in your world, though I was still fairly powerful, and was partially able to use them. The Red Jewels are my 'Birthright' stones, the Ebon-Gray ones I acquired when I became an adult." A pause. "Would you like to hold them?"

Ciel gave his butler a cool look--but put his hands out, cupped. The jewelry slid into his hands witht he faint chime of silver on silver. "How did you do that--make them appear?"

"I have an invisible cupboard," Sebastian said, his tone a shade flippant.

"Be serious," Ciel said irritably.

"I was," Sebastian said, amused. "It's how I visualize the space where I put things when I 'vanish' them. Other people might visualize a sack or a chest." He held out his hand, silently asking for the return of his Jewels.

Ciel, possessed by a sudden impulse shook his head. "No--let me put them on you."

Sebastian gave him an unreadable look. "That's a strange request."

"Never mind that. I want to see what they look like on you," Ciel said. Embarrassingly, because Sebastian was still giving him that look, he flushed. "You could probably use magic to put them on but--I want to."

"You're not my valet," Sebastian said, but then he smiled. "Go ahead then."

Feeling very strangely nervous, Ciel moved to the edge of the bed. He carefully set the jewelery down. He started with the rings, one dark gray and oval, and the other red, and cut square, like the blue diamond in his family's signet ring. Next was the bracelet--two more red stones, and a dark gray in the middle. Next was the necklace--dark gray again. The earring with its tear drop of glittering red presented a quandry for Ciel. The hole for the earring looked as if it had closed over, and Ciel felt real reluctance at just sticking the pin into Sebastian's ear. Sebastian, seeing his hesitation, smiled. "I'd need to do it anyway--I've taken worse wounds--go ahead."

He'd thrown darts at Sebastian (he always caught them) and struck him once in a while, and on one memorable occasion, accidentally shot him--but this was different. "What about alchohol--" he began, then flushed at Sebastian's amused look. "All right, fine, if your ear turns black and falls off, it's not my problem," Ciel said. He pushed the earring in quickly, all the way through the lobe. Blood welled up, and Ciel tugged the handkerchief out of Sebastian's pocket, noted that it was clean, and used it to wipe up the blood. "Is 'War Lord Prince' a very high caste?" He asked.

"Yes," Sebastian said, and took the handkerchief back.

Ciel sat back on the bed. Sebastian was wearing another suit, this one better fitting than the one he'd worn when Ciel had first seen him. Dark wool twill coat and pants, a white linen shirt with a high collar, the arm sleeves on the left side were neatly pinned so as not to ruin the lines of the coat. Polished black leather shoes, and the sliver glint of a pocket watch chain. The fabric was new, or nearly so, and possibly tailored or altered to fit--Ciel noticed these little details instantly. Adding in the jewelry to that very well made suit gave Sebastian a strange, exotic appearance, like foriegn nobility. "'I have always been a butler,' you said," Ciel said.

"In some Courts, the custom was that servants had to keep their Jewels out of sight, so that one's employer wouldn't have to acknowledge the fact that a servant might have a greater strength than they," Sebastian said with a smirk. "And I've served in a few Courts in various capacities and roles while working for my father and uncle, so I wasn't lying."

"Are you sure you don't work for Her Majesty's secret service?" Madame Red had asked.

"I am simply one hell of a butler," Sebastian had replied.

Much later, on that strange, stygian river, Sebastian had smiled ruefully and said, "I had wanted to fulfill the role of the perfect butler to the very end."

Ciel's gaze strayed to Sebastian's left shoulder. He had been aware of that absence, couldn't help but be aware of the arm Sebastian had lost when fighting the angel, but he had tried very hard not to look at it, or think about it until now. If Sebastian was going to continue "working" for his father and uncle in any capacity his "roles" would have to change drastically, unless Sebastian could somehow regrow a limb. "Your lady mother says I will be able to leave the room and engage in light exercise in another day or two," Ciel said, not taking his gaze away from the empty sleeve. "How soon until you are completely recovered?"

"The loss of the arm--is permanent," Sebastian said, understanding immediately what Ciel was getting at.

"Then it seems you do need a valet," Ciel said, coming to a decision. "I will take that role."

"You are a noble, my lord," Sebastian said. "And I don't require that service from you."

Ciel glared at Sebastian. "I am only Ciel Phantomhive--I care nothing for that title, and it's surely of no use to me here. As for service, if you want me to 'live'--I can't live on air, I must make my way in the world you've dropped me in and--" He hesitated, a strange weight forming in his chest. "And if I must go or stay anywhere, I would rather it were with you."

The look Sebastian gave him was startled--and oddly proud. "Before we can talk about how you'll make your way," Sebastian said. "You should learn everything about this world--I would be happy to teach you, as my guest."

Ciel wanted to argue, but found he couldn't. "All right," he said, then glared, because Sebastian had reached out and ruffled his hair. "Stop that."

Sebastian laughed, and stood up. He ruffled Ciel's hair again, and left the room.

 

* * *

Ciel sat in a chair, thumbing through a picture book while holding an idle conversation with Razor, a young Yellow-Jeweled raven witch. She had attached herself to Ciel almost from the moment he'd been pronounced well enough to get out of bed. It was an interesting acquaintance to say the least. Razor seemed determined to help teach Ciel proper protocol (with the stated opinion that Bastian had been an incompetant tutor).

Sebastian watched the conversation without appearing to, from the stacks, always taking care to make sure that he was always just out of "earshot" or "eyeshot." He was doing this very deliberately, playing the part of a servant waiting to be called on some errand or another. Ciel was for the most part, pretending to ignore him.

"You would think he spoke to kindred ravens every day," Daemon murmured, slipping forward to stand beside his son. Bastian hadn't heard him come up, he was just there, a dark eminence in utterly casual clothes. He leaned against the shelf nearest to him, smiling slightly.

Bastian smiled back. "Not every day, no."

"Hm," Daemon gave his son a thoughtful look. "And why are you here, instead of joining the conversation?"

"Because it won't be what you'd call a friendly one," Bastian said. "Or rather, it wouldn't stay one."

The Warlord Prince of Dhemlan tilted his head slightly. "Because?"

Bastian sighed. "Ciel is still insisting on becoming my valet." Unconsciously, Bastian wrapped his arm around his torso, hugging himself. "I've told him it isn't necessary but he won't take no for an answer. I think he feels guilty--about what happened to my arm."

"Are you sure it's just that?"

"I don't know--it could be a game, but if it is, I don't know what the rules are," Bastian said ruefully. "It isn't one of the usual ones, that's all I know." He winced a little at the look his father gave him.

"Do I need to ask what sort of games you and he were playing?" Daemon asked with deceptive mildness.

Bastian sighed. "Potentially lethal ones," he admitted. "It seems I take after you, in more ways than being a natural Black Widow, and a Warlord Prince."

"I doubt you've inherited the Sadist, boyo," Daemon said. "The Sadist was my response to not being able to act as a member of my caste. He's my alter ego and an extension of my personality. As Mika would tell you, 'heredity doesn't work that way, idiot.'"

A laugh. "Sometimes, it didn't feel entirely like it was 'myself' who spoke or interacted with Ciel, but someone else at times," Bastian explained. "It was a very strange experience."

"I suppose it would be," Daemon said. "For you, as well as Ciel." A pause. "I think that young man cares for you a great deal."

"He does," Bastian said softly. "I'm not entirely sure I deserve it though. There was a point--a point where we were both at our limits. And Ciel faltered, just fell apart, though I think no one else would have seen it or recognized it. So I left him alone, abandoned him, essentially. I was angry enough to kill, I think, but I went blank instead."

"And what happened?"

"Ciel eventually became so angry with me for rejecting him, that he tried to get back to London on his own. I think--no, I know, he decided that he was going to prove that he was worthy. I don't think it mattered to him that essentially, he was trying to prove himself worthy of having his soul consumed."

"Father mentioned the boy was upset with you about that," Daemon said, a certain dark amusement glittering in his eyes. "That you didn't consume his soul, that is."

"He can stand having his feelings hurt," Bastian said, glancing in Ciel's direction. He might have said more, except Ciel was looking back.

"I wonder how much he's overheard?" Daemon asked in a whimsical tone. "You can have your argument, since I'm here to chaperone you." Daemon smirked evilly.

"Could we not?" Bastian murmured. His father's evil smirk just widened, and he pointed an eloquent finger toward Ciel.

Bastian sighed and stepped over to where Ciel was, Daemon subtly herding him along. Ciel stood up somewhat awkwardly, and made a very brief, correct bow, before sitting back down.

"Lord Phantomhive, how are you feeling today?" Daemon asked in a cheerful voice, settling into one of the nearby chairs. A glance directed Bastian to a chair catty-corner to Ciel's. Bastian obeyed, and wondered what his father was up to.

"Very well, thank you sir," Ciel said politely. "I am very grateful for the care and consideration I've received here."

"You needed our help," Daemon said. "Sometimes it seems a little like our 'family business' to help people."

"So Razor has been telling me, in between lessons," Ciel said, giving the kindred raven a look that was part amused, part annoyed. Razor preened one of her wings, the equivalent of a semi-indignant snort for her. "I am told that yourself and your wife, and your father are all persons of great importance," Ciel continued. "Which confirmed some things about Sebastian that I had suspected but was unable to discover with the information availible to me at the time."

"What sort of materials?" Daemon asked.

"Books on demonology, mostly," Ciel said calmly. "And other matters of the occult." A slight, delicate pause. "Sebastian confiscated them of course. I thought at the time he was trying to keep me from finding his true name, now I wonder if he was trying to keep me from finding it wasn't to be found."

"I confiscated them because they were worthless tripe," Bastian muttered. "I did not in any way consider them a threat to anything except perhaps a good night's sleep."

"Why were you trying to find out Bastian's 'true name' Mr. Phantomhive?" Daemon asked. On a private thread he said to Bastian, *you'll have to explain this 'occult' and 'demonology' later.*

Ciel, rather suprisingly to Bastian, flushed. "Not to try to get the upper hand, or to go back on my sworn word," he said. "I just wanted to know his real name. What he really looked like." Ciel was giving Bastian an odd, sideways sort of look.

"Yet I'm fairly sure you didn't peek when we were on the bridge," Bastian said.

"You told me not to," Ciel said. "And from the screaming and frothing the angel was doing, it seemed like it would be a bad idea to disobey." The boy's head tilted slightly. "If that's your true form, I don't know what the angel was screaming about though." Ciel was in his best (worst) Terrible Child mode. Sounding worldly and eerily adult, while still being very much a child. Bastian glared at Ciel, which just made the boy smirk even more.

Daemon made choked off sound, half laugh, half cough. "It is his true form," Daemon said. "The 'true form' he might have shown the angel however, might have been very different however." He gave Bastian an amused look. "But let's return to the subject--why did you want to find out this 'true name?'" Daemon asked.

The Terrible Child faded a bit, leaving a slightly more vulnerable Ciel in its place. The 'Ciel' that turned up when he was at his most fragile. The 'Ciel' that Bastian hated to see, and most wanted to protect. "I just wanted to know," Ciel said.


	4. His Master, Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ciel is still at loose ends.

Ciel was used to having a tightly regimented schedule that with almost military precision dictated his every movement. There were times when he strongly suspected that even his few attempts to subvert that schedule had been planned for. "Ah, yes," he had imagined Sebastian saying to Mr. Tanaka, "today the young master will be building a tower out of cards instead of writing his report to Her Majesty. Have Maylene clear out the cobwebs on the ceiling near his office around ten o'clock, she's sure to trip or fall, the noise will probably cause the young master to wreck the tower. Then I'll arrive to scold her, which will be followed by my 'catching' the young master behaving irresponsibly."

So, Ciel wasn't sure what to do with himself now that the schedule had virtually disappeared. He was the guest and ward of the SaDiablo family. His only "duties and obligations" consisted of learning the language, manners and local customs. His greatest challenges consisted of geography, mathematics, history and music lessons. His greatest responsibilities involved not being late for any of his lessons. In short, the sphere he was used to operating within had shrunk to that of a normal thirteen year old boy's.

It was not, to say the least, a situation to which he was very accustomed. He worked hard on learning the language, carefully building a conversational vocabulary over the course of weeks. Writing was a bit more difficult--he had to learn an entirely new alphabet, as well as new numbers. He also learned how to communicate silently using "spear to spear" and "spear to distaff" threads, which made learning the language a little easier.

(Realizing he could actively sense these threads, as well as detect "psychic scents" was more than a little unsettling.)

It was even more unsettling to discover that he was apparently "Blood."

_"Are you saying I'm a demon, Sebastian? I knew I was damned but that's a bit much," _he had said when he had been told.

_"I am saying that you are Blood, and a Warlord Prince," _Bastian had replied.

He still didn't know what to think of that. He didn't know what to think of any of a dozen almost familiar things, from fairy tales his father had told him (which he had never been able to find in any collection) to words that were almost familiar. Names and words and rhymes he had thought his father and grandfather had made up in a flight of fancy. Stories about princes and brave warriors who served noble queens and were more likely to talk to dragons than slay them. Talking animals, demons and witches. He remembered more and more of those stories, memories he'd buried along with his childhood as he read books that excavated those memories.

Between tutoring sessions he explored SaDiablo Hall, both inside and out. Ciel was occasionally accompanied by Razor during these walks, and she filled his head full of stories that were alternately funny or unsettling. Not that it wasn't a little unsettling to speak to a raven in the first place. (The first time he'd ever spoken to one, it had been a demon.) Ciel still wasn't sure if it was more unsettling or less that despite her funereal plumage, she was a friendly and sensible creature.

He studied a book on "basic craft" in the garden, while sitting in the shadow of a marble statue. (A feline creature crouched protectively over the body of a woman lying between his paws, a strange and evocative piece that had drawn him like a magnet from the first time he had seen it.) He read out loud so that Razor could correct him when he made a mistake in pronunciation, or to explain in more detail something he didn't understand.

The text wasn't anything like the books on the occult and demonology he'd read after shortly after _that day_. There were rituals and spells to be performed, but it clearly wasn't a grimoire--no secret code, no allusions or strange metaphors. Instead the book described in a simple, no nonsense manner how to go to do things like lift objects without touching them or light a fire without a lucifer or flint. There were exercises and work sheets, some of them filled out in handwriting that he recognized as belonging to Sebastian, with sidenotes in the margins. (There were also little doodles of human faces, birds, and cats.) "Do you really think I could do something like this?" He asked the raven pointing to a "simple" beginner's exercise that involved locating lost objects.

*Why wouldn't you? You're Blood,* Razor replied. *If you can hear me, you should be able to do this much.*

Ciel couldn't help but smile at the turn of phrase. How often had Bastian declared that a servant of the Phantomhive household should be "able to do at least this much," with "this much" usually being something nearly impossible for normal humans? Or when he did something truly impossible, like mend a ring, or catch a handful of bullets. "I might be Blood, but my only experience with magic involved--" things he didn't want to talk about, even to a raven. "Accidentally summoning Prince Bastian."

*We'll teach you want you need to know,* Razor said confidently. *You'll be able to have a Birthright Ceremony soon--*

"Birthright Ceremony?" Ciel asked. It had been mentioned in the text books he'd been reading. "I'm a little old for that, aren't I? And--my parents are dead." Horribly dead. He wasn't sure he wanted to go to an Altar, either. The pictures he'd seen, paintings, prints and woodcuts, hadn'tlooked very much like the amphitheater where he'd been sacrificed--but they still gave him chills.

Razor turned her head to fix one bright black eye on Ciel. *Not too old, since you haven't had one yet,* she said. *And even if your family is not here, you have a friend to stand with you, in Prince Bastian, don't you?*

Ciel smirked. "I have never thought of Sebastian as a friend. That was not, and could not be our relationship." His hand strayed to the patch covering his eye. "It was my eye, for his hands, and I suppose, his arm for my revenge, and my soul for everything else." It felt strange saying it out loud--but there was no one here to hide this from, not even this raven. It was even stranger to think that everyone here within SaDiablo Hall knew, plus whomever else "Prince Bastian" was connected to. They knew if not the intimate details, then the synopsis of the past two years. They did not condemn, nor he thought, did they pity him. "That he doesn't seem to want it leaves my ledger extremely unbalanced."

The raven shifted on his shoulder, and polished her beak on her shoulder. *'There is always a price,'* she said, with the air of someone quoting a familiar saying. *Is that why you want to serve the Prince?*

The question gave him a feeling as if someone were walking on his grave, for some reason. An odd little shiver, accompanied by a strangely flustered feeling comprised of both warmth--and fear. _Now then, young master..._ He remembered that terrible smile coming closer, he remembered pain, a web, and a cracked crystal cup.

"I owe him a debt that can't be repaid," Ciel said after a few moments. _I want to stay with him, _a small voice whispered in the back of his head. A child's voice. The voice of the Ciel he had been when he had been nine, happy and safe in the arms of his parents. The Ciel he never acknowledged if he could help it. "But I have to make the attempt."

* * *

The phaeton trundled up the road--Lexy, the young Blood mare pulling it wasn't in a hurry, and rather enjoying the exercise, to judge by her springy step, and by her very scenic choice of route. Ciel however, was not enjoying the trip, at least to judge by his watering eyes and frequent use of his handkerchief. It was late summer in Kaeleer, where it had been autumn in that other world. The difference in weather hadn't done Ciel any good, complicating the healing process. Bastian could still hear a very faint wheeze from Ciel when he breathed. They were driving up to the Altar his sister Ilene and her adopted daughter Mika tended.

"Why can't _you_ give me Craft lessons, if I must have them?" Ciel asked. There was a shadow of the Young Master in a sulk in his voice, just enough to make Bastian smile. There had been less of that lately. Ciel played roles, and would improvise quickly on the fly if you only gave him a few cues--it was a very valuable talent, and one Bastian (or rather, Sebastian) had encouraged. Ciel currently had no need for the Young Master role, so he didn't use it, or used it with less force. (Because no one in their right mind took that tone with Helene, or the Beales, for instance.)

"Because there's some research I have to do at the Keep, for one thing," Bastian said. "For another, Ilene is better at teaching basic Craft than I am." He didn't mention that the third reason was so that Ciel would be able to accustom himself to the more spiritual aspects of being Blood. The boy had been raised a variety of "Christian" known as "Church of England," and his only familiarity with other belief systems was Prince Soma and his patroness, Kali. (While Tanaka was _definitely_ not Christian, Maylene was a "papist," Bard was Anglican, and Finnian wasn't anything Bastian could put a name to, none of them spoke about their beliefs or allowed what they believed to come to the surface.)

Ciel gave him a sharp, sideways glance and a faint smirk. "It's strange to hear you say there's something you can't do."

"I didn't say I couldn't, I said that I wasn't as good," Bastian said lightly. "A small but significant difference."

The boy snorted in amusement. "If you say so," he said in a skeptical tone. "What is it that you're studying?"

"Family trees," Bastian said.

Ciel's amusement faded, and his expression narrowed. "Whose?" He asked, but it looked as if he had all ready guessed, and that his guess had disturbed him.

"I don't have a great deal to go on," Bastian said. "But I've had more obscure clues to work with before."

"Even if the founder of my family were Blood and somehow ended up in my world through some strange mischance or sorcery, how would you be able to find him?" Ciel asked. "And why are you trying to find out?"

"You forget that Blood are longer lived. We also keep very extensive records, and even closed Territories send a copy of their records to the Keep. It won't be quite a needle in a haystack, it will be more like a grain of rice in a pile of millet." A pause.

"What sort of 'clues?'" Ciel asked, his expression turning curious. Ciel could never resist a puzzle or a mystery. Bastian sometimes wondered if that avid curiosity and analytical intelligence had somehow been bred into the family line.

"Name, and faces mostly," Sebastian said. "Things I've sensed while living at the old manor and the townhouse in London. Traces of psychic scent, or the memory of same. Things that Tanaka told me about your family, and rumors I heard." He paused. "Do you want me to not look?"

Ciel glared, then looked away, uncertain. "I'm not sure what I want. I don't care if you look."

"You have no curiosity at all about it, my lord?"

"I know the history of my family, or at least as much as my father told me," Ciel said. For once, he didn't complain about the 'my lord.' His gaze drifted to rest on trees, flowers, the horse pulling the phaeton up the road. Everywhere but at Bastian. "According to him, the founder of our line was a criminal who somehow ended up in the service of Queen Elizabeth. Galen was eventually knighted and given a position in court," Ciel said. "He later married a female pirate who styled herself 'Golden Bess,' and had a son and a daughter with her. The family served the Crown for a very long time, except for one of my ancestors who supported Cromwell." Now his gaze did turn to Bastian. "I am not certain I want to dig more deeply than that, when I've thrown it away."

"Do you want me not to look?" Bastian asked a second time. "I will not, if you truly wish it, but I have a feeling that it might in some way be useful, or important."

"I suppose I can trust your instincts," Ciel said. A pause. "And I suppose I'm a bit curious as to how Sir Galen found himself in England."


	5. His Master, Discovering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is research, practice, and intelligence reports.

_Bastian studies the crest. Two birds facing away from each other, one wing spread, and a shield. Below is a banner with the words potentia regere. He does not at this point in time yet know how to read in this language. That will come later, along with many other things. "It's very bad Latin," the child-the Young Master-comments, coming to stand beside him. He clumps along quite steadily now, with his fine new cane, and pretends that no one can see how heavily he leans on it._

_"My lord?" Bastian turns, and offers the child a slight smile, and a bow. _

_"Potentia Regere-it's not in the least grammatical," the child informs him. Ciel manages to achieve a lordly sort of air in his tone. Unfortunately, Bastian can easily see that the boy is trying to impress him. "It's supposed to be Potestas regendi."_

_"Which means what, Young Master?"_

_"Power to rule," the boy says, and then frowns. "You're a strange demon, to not know Latin."_

_"Must all demons know Latin, Young Master?" Sebastian asked lightly. _

_"Occultists seem to think so," Ciel says, his mouth twisting in an ugly way as shadows dance in his eye. _

_Bastian's hand throbs in a way that tells him that the eye still covered by bandages is burning. It's not a painful sensation, but it's not a pleasurable one either. He feels as if something is shifting deep within, a cold terrible amusement directed at the boy. "If the Latin is so ungrammatical, can you be certain that the motto is meant to be 'power to rule,' my lord?" _

_Ciel gives him a sharp look. "What else could it be?" _

_"To rule power, young master."_

_"That doesn't make any sense. If you rule, you have power." _

_The cold amusement chooses that moment to strike. "But little master, you have no power at all. Your wretched, broken self was empty of all but will when you summoned me by accident." A cruel smile stretched his mouth as he leaned in, looming over the boy._

_The boy flinched for a second, weakness and fear momentarily overwhelming him. Then he burned cold and brilliantly dark. His spine stiffened and he stood as tall and straight as he could as he glared up at Bastian. "You are my power," the boy said in a terrible voice. "You are my arms and legs. I rule you, Sebastian, by that will." _

_Bastian shuddered at the esctatic leap of joy that surged through him. The boy barely noticed, only glared with freezing rage. Bastian bowed, one hand over his heart, then dropped to one knee. "Until the day you die, my lord. I will be your faithful and most loyal servant, I am entirely yours."_

__   


* * *

  


Bastian woke from the dream, with the shivering echoes of delight still running along his nerves. It was cold, not yet dawn, and he felt barely awake-but knew he wouldn't be getting back to sleep. He'd been trained too well. "Old man, you've encouraged me to filthy habits," he muttered as he sat up, swinging his feet into his slippers. Even as he said it, he smiled, remembering the elderly gentleman who had served as a family retainer for the Phantomhive family for decades.

Tanaka had been the one to teach him how to behave, with the perfect "outsider's eye" that saw and understood things in a way that someone from inside the culture of a place couldn't. With Tanaka's help, a careful impersonation of his own family's servants, (particularly the formidable Mr. Beale and his father's valet, Jazen) and with his own experience serving in other, far more different Courts, Bastian had been able to play his part with panache.

Bastian had never really been a morning person-but he had played the part of the lark very well indeed, always being the first to rise and direct the other servants on their daily tasks. He had rather enjoyed annoying Ciel by sleeping in late, the past few weeks. Ciel had taken to stalking into the bedroom and opening the drapes as loudly as possible, then standing at the foot of Bastian's bed and _glaring_ until Bastian acknowledged him.

Bastian sighed, and combed at his hair with his fingers, and headed into the bathroom to get unrumpled and dressed. He needed to stop this-but even when Ciel was away, he couldn't stop thinking about the boy. Two years of intense intimacy, of a dangerous, vicious game between two strong-willed Warlord Princes didn't vanish once the game ended. He felt just as strongly bound as when the contract was in effect, only now...

He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself-and wasn't quite sure of who to talk to about it.

After civilizing himself somewhat, he went down to the study where he had been doing most of his research. His notes and reference materials were exactly where he had left them, but the detritus of his last meal had been rather pointedly cleared away. Despite that, there was a plate of nut cakes, a small pot of blackberry jelly, butter, and a carafe of coffee with temperature shields over them.

Bastian ate breakfast, and reviewed his notes. It was true that he had very little to go on except the name and the oddly "familiar" strategy the Phantomhives had used in their efforts to serve the British Crown. Oddly familiar because it reminded him of what he knew of his father's efforts at subverting and fighting the effects of Dorothea's reign in Terrielle. The Dark Court, led by his mother and father used the same, or at least similar tactics. _Father will never understand or realize his successes-and we will politely not mention them, the way we pretend that Mother isn't the Queen of the Darkness, _his brother Locifar had said once. Locifar often made contact-and served as a conduit of information-to groups in Terrielle who were helping with the ongoing rebuilding process. Groups that often could trace their origin points to someone who had been taught or helped by either Daemon or Lucivar. Groups influenced by Daemon were secretive, indirect networks that could break apart and reform. Groups influenced by Lucivar were direct and forthright.

He was almost certain from the strategy employed by the later generations of Ciel's family that Galen came from Terrielle. A Sapphire Jeweled Warlord Prince from one of the short-lived races who might have had contact with either Daemon or one of Daemon's hidden businesses. Possibly a privateer or an outright pirate. (He did not discount the possibility that Galen was a highwayman or a bandit.) He had the approximate time Galen had appeared in the other world, and when he might have disappeared. The surname was a little difficult-it could have been an approximation of the actual name, going through many shifts in pronunciation and spelling since standardized spelling was a relatively recent development in the other world. It could be an obscure joke or wordplay of some kind. It might be a combination of all those things, so he combed through family names and registries, slowly but surely narrowing his possibilities.

The pile of millet was shrinking, but he hadn't yet come across the rice grain.

* * *

The wooden ring on the table twitched slightly at first, then slowly rises into the air connected by an invisible string. Then a ball bobbed into the air after it, with a short jerky movement. Ciel glared at the ball, and almost lost his hold on the wooden ring. It wobbled dangerously, and fell about an inch and a half.

He concentrated, taking a deep breath. Slowly, he brought the ball and the ring together. He almost lost control of the idea of a "string" holding the objects suspended, but was able to pass the ball through the ring. Of course, both ring and ball fell immediately after that because he was distracted by Mika entering the room. He sighed sharply, and sat down.

"You're doing fine, Lord Ciel," Mika said, setting the tea service she'd brought into the room down on the workroom table. There were sandwiches cut into triangles, scones, clotted cream and jam. The cups and tea pot had gold accents, with a lovely pattern of pear blossoms and fruits. She immediately vanished the objects and sat down next to him. "You've been learning the basics very quickly." She poured him a cup of spiced tea, handing it to him.

"I'm still far behind," Ciel murmured. He took the cup and sipped. Cloves and cinnamon dominated, and it was a green tea. "An Soon?" he asked. "From Tigreland."

Mika grinned. "Yes. The tea service is Strick and Clay from Shalador Nehele, the honey pear pattern is extremely popular in both the "Nehele" Territories."

The exchange made him a little homesick, and he repressed a sigh as he set the cup down, and selected a sandwich to nibble on. "Is it a Sa Diablo family trait?" he asked, in an indirect manner.

Mika understood exactly what he meant, and favored him with a smirk that despite only being SaDiablo by adoption, made her resemble her adoptive mother. "A little. It's a very easy way to teach everything from geography to manners, isn't it?" Mika poured herself a cup of tea, and snagged a scone, cutting it open and slathering it with clotted cream and jam. "For someone who has only recently discovered he's Blood and that he can do things others cannot, you are learning very quickly," Mika said, returning to the earlier exchange. "I was about your age when I learned Basic Craft, so I can understand how frustrating it is."

"Bastian mentioned you were raised by 'landen.' In Terrielle," Ciel said, and wondered if it was impolite to ask something like that. He had a vague awareness from both Razor and Bastian that Terrielle was something of a touchy subject. There had been a terrible "purge" in Terrielle, decades ago, which had been followed by a bloody series of civil wars and revolutions in many Territories. Territories that were still on the path to recovery to this day.

Mika nodded. "Yes. Marha-mama and Linden-papa raised me from when I was just a baby, until I was twelve. Marha was a herbalist and midwife, and Linden was a 'physicker,' who was also the member of the local militia. They both knew I was Blood, and most of the town did-but the local Blood village didn't, which caused a bit of problem that Ilene-mama was able to settle."

Ciel had a feeling the "bit of problem" was more severe than Mika was implying, but didn't question it. He nibbled thoughtfully on his sandwich, and sipped his tea, making polite conversation as he thought. The shrine and the house next to it was becoming a little more familiar to him. He had observed rituals and listened to stories, and read books that explained their purposes, and the basic spiritual philosophies of the Blood. He was still a little unnerved by the Altar itself, and the rituals that involved shedding blood, but it wasn't as upsetting as he'd thought it would be. (He was not stranger to such things, after all. The only difference was, this was somehow a spiritual practice, not entertainment.) "Was it difficult for you?"

"A little. Landen don't usually follow the practices of the Blood-mostly because for them, it would only be ritual, with nothing-or very little-behind it. It can often become a point of contention, especially if the Blood are reluctant or actively hostile at the idea of committing personal resources to landen communities," Mika said. "One of the things we've been trying to do is encourage alliances between landen and the kindred Blood, as well as asking Blood villages to work more closely with landen ones, instead of just ruling them, or acting like absentee landlords."

Ciel nodded. From what he'd learned, the "Dark Court," which had formed around Bastian's mother Jaenelle still functioned as a central government of sorts, even though it had officially disbanded after Jaenelle fought a one-woman war against another Territory-an Empire-and it's colonies. She had nearly lost her life in the attempt, and had single handedly destroyed an empire. (It was hard to reconcile the power of a raging Kali with the kind, disturbingly empathetic woman he'd been introduced to.) The Dark Court was also a sort of empire, but its activities were indirect, and relied on the complex interactions of "protocol" and diplomacy instead of trade or force of arms. (Though either could sometimes play a part.) "Because kindred Blood aren't competing for the same things that human Blood do-so there's less rivalry." He warmed a little at her approving look, then glared because she ruined it by ruffling his hair.

* * *

Mr. Tanaka did not have to wait long after offering his calling card. Even though the footman who answered the door seemed a little nonplussed. (_You could almost hear him thinking "at least his English is good," _Tanaka thought, amused.) The ladies he had come to call upon were waiting to recieve him, one dressed dressed in mourning black, and the other in dark blue. The young miss' eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but the baroness had an absolute and iron serenity about her. "Lady Middleford, Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Tanaka of the Phantomhive Toy and Candy Company."

"Thank you William," The Baroness said in a tone of dismissal. The footman gave an uncertain look at the lady, then at Tanaka, then quickly took himself elsewhere when her eyes narrowed. Once the servant had removed himself, the icy serenity cracked a little. "Tanaka-"

"There is a great deal I have to tell you, my lady," Tanaka said in Japanese. "I hope you remember the Japanese I taught you and your brother."

"I remember enough," the baroness said, also in that language. "What can you tell me?"

"Only a little more than what you all ready know. You've both read the letters?" Tanaka asked. Both Frances and Elizabeth nodded. One letter from Ciel, detailing exactly what had happened to him on "that day." One letter from himself, explaining everything that had happened since. And a third letter, from the demon who had served Ciel, which had been written such a way that only the baroness had been able to decipher it's meaning. "The initial investigation reveals that Sebastian's theory is most likely correct," Tanaka said in Japanese. "The same elements who targeted your brother, also attempted to kill Angelina Barnett, though they later backed off due to injuries she sustained in the "accident." My lady, you and your family may be in a great deal of danger."

"Understood," the Baroness said. "Your advice, Uncle?" Still in Japanese, and using very respectful language.

It warmed and lightened his heart to hear that despite the seriousness of the situation. She only called him "uncle" very occasionally. (Her brother and on occasion his son-imp!-had preferred "Old Man.") He didn't bother repressing a smile. "Lady," he said, using the term for "young lady," which made her smile in return. "Be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

The Baroness nodded. "Please wait here, and tell my husband everything you've told me." A pause. "Everything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to Brit pick (Victorian pick?) or canon pick me, if I've gotten anything wrong. Bastian's theory has been rolling around in my head for a while.


End file.
